


Sea Glass Wings

by syrenhug



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Aromantic Asexual Character, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrenhug/pseuds/syrenhug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a complicated process, being a young lady. You have to be firm, but gentle. Talk loud enough to be heard, but not too loud as to disturb. Vanity mirrors and jewelry cases. Lip stick against a tanned cheek. A pretty, perfect, contradiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea Glass Wings

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of simple run downs of being trans in here, which may come off weird, but I wrote this forever ago, and Nico has a different thought process then I do.

Your mom buys you a skirt when you’re twelve and says, eyes crinkling, “It’s time for my precious to become a young lady.”

It’s a complicated process, being a young lady. You have to be firm, but gentle. Talk loud enough to be heard, but not too loud as to disturb. Vanity mirrors and jewelry cases. Lip stick against a tanned cheek. A pretty, perfect, contradiction.

* * *

Your best friend’s name is Percy and he’s all sea glass eyes and a trouble - making smile. He runs around the town barefoot, beckoning you into adventure.

Bianca tells you not to hang around him more and more as the years pass by, but you don’t listen. Just because you bleed every few months doesn’t mean anything to your friendships.

“Fine. You better hope mama doesn’t find out, though.” She rolls her eyes and you smack a big kiss into her hair. It makes her giggle.

Percy tilts his head, squinting from the glare of the sun. “Where’s my kiss?”

“Take a shovel and dig into the ground and you’ll find your kiss, stupid.”

And that sends you two running. It doesn’t take long until he’s on your heels, capturing your tiny waist. His breathing is heavy.

“Put me down.”

“What’s the magic word?”

You twist around. “Put me down.”

“Incorrect.” But he let’s you go, laughing when you both collapse into the grass. The water is shiny, glistening in answer to the sun’s call. You lick your lips. Then close your eyes.

The sound of his shoes brushing against his pants has you opening them up again. “Did your mother make you wear those?”

“Yes.” He pouts. “I don’t understand why it matters. I’m not even thirteen yet.”

“She probably just wants you to be safe.”

He spits. The anger in his wrinkled forehead surprises you. “Safe? We’re kids, Nicolette. We’re not supposed to be safe. Not yet, not now.”

“Perseus-”

“And she says that we shouldn’t hang out as much anymore because you’re becoming a woman and I, a young man. What a load.”

Woman. It makes you want to spit, as well. But, you just lean over and punch Percy in the shoulder. Hard.

And if you two spend all day wrestling, no one ever knows.

* * *

Bianca sighs, sipping on the lemonade your mother made. “Don’t you think he’s attractive?”

“He’s alright.”

“Who are you two talking about?” A cold, big hand grasps your shoulder. Your father gives your mother a kiss as he pours himself a drink.

“Boys.”

“Ohh.” A teasing tone that makes you blush. “Does my Nicolette have her first crush?”

“She just won’t admit it.” Bianca pokes and the pronoun slices you through so hard you wince. It all feels too comfy. Too normal. If you were anyone else, who you were supposed to be, you would go along with it. But you can’t.

So you leave. Bianca calls out, then there’s hushed assurance and rocking laughter through the door. _It’s always stressful for us at that age._

Anger tastes like blood and dark chocolate and you kneel by you’re bed and gulp it down for all it’s worth.

* * *

 Seven deadly sins. One of them; envy.

Boys have strong, muscular physiques. They dominant, assert. They can talk too much, say whatever they like. Hurt with blunt nails and whiskered chins. Ruffled curls, a boyish smirk. They hold the world in their large hands. A handsome, imperfect contradiction.

Leo is his name. He’s from Spain. Amber eyes that hug you, honey skin that drips over his mouth as he pronounces your name. He always laughs at your jokes and talks to you even though everyone disapproves.

You wonder why it hurts. This should be perfect. You’ve finally found someone you like. Understand. Like the normal young _lady_ they want you to be.

But as much as you want him, as good as that is, you also want to be him.

* * *

So mirrors lie.

That’s one thing they don’t tell you. You see olive skin and hips that flare. Curves that hardly go anywhere because you’re so short.  Being naked is like being dirty. Every time you see yourself, you want to take a shower.

You’ve got a good set of breasts, is what you’re mother gives you for you’re fifteenth birthday. It makes you sad. What about your eyes? Your smile? Your dry sense of humor that makes your father snort into his paper.

Some days, you grab a belt from your father’s drawer and tie it around you’re chest; that’s how much it disgusts you.

And they want to know now, _who are you going to be, Nicolette?_

You wish you knew.

* * *

 “Let’s take a drive.” Leo says and you know.

_I like men_ can mean just about anything for a girl who likes a boy. But in the passenger seat of his truck with the windows down, all you want to do is tell him that there has never been a time that you didn’t wish you had what he had.

He’s so lucky. So damn lucky. Because he’s a man and he can fly without wings, and you have to staple the tips of your toes to the porch and watch.

“You haven’t said anything.”

You let your hair cover you. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I just didn’t want you to think-“ He cuts himself off quickly. “I mean, everyone says-“

-that you were going to runaway someday and get married and have fifteen kids and live a beautifully boring life. You laugh. Everyone’s a mess. The world is ridiculous.

You turn to him and you don’t care if you look splotchy or if your hands are shaking because if anybody can be strong, you can. “Let me out.”

He grimaces. “Don’t be unreasonable, Nicolette.”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t fucking call me that ever again. And next time you decide to presume how I feel, shove a stick in your mouth.”

When he stops, you slam the door. Don’t look back.

* * *

That night Percy is there. He’s eighteen in a month and just as attractive as you knew he’d always be.

He smiles when you bump your shoulder into his. Shadows and water keeping both your secrets.  “I haven’t seen you around lately.”

“It _has_ been awhile.” You realize. “How’s Annabeth?”

“How’s Leo?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

His face goes thoughtful, but he nods. “Same with Annabeth.”

Shame is an electric shock. You don’t like to touch it, let it go through you. If you can avoid it, you definitely will. But that’s how you feel, suddenly. All anyone’s ever taught you was how it was supposed to be. But how does anybody know?

The curls trailing down your back are heavy. “Do you like her?”

He smiles again. It’s almost sad. “I don’t. She’s a lovely person, but, I’ve never liked anybody before. I’m happy with friends and family.”

You know it’s something he’s never admitted and the trust warms you. So you swallow and say, “Do you think you could start calling me Nico?”

* * *

 Your mother cuts you off when you tell her. Bianca reassures you she’ll come around eventually, but you understand that some people don’t get it.

And it takes your father less then a day to come into your room, look around and murmur that he’s always wanted a son.

Being yourself is freeing. An artist uncovering a long worked upon sculpture. You cut your hair, throw out the skirts, correct pronouns.

It’s hard and there are times when you want to just let it go, because unhappiness can grow to be a kind friend. But Bianca ruffles your hair and calls you little brother. Percy researches it all for you. _Transgender_ , he mouths and you like that who you are has a name.

Hard, yes. But you’re a work of art. It’ll take time.

* * *

Thalia is the first person to challenge your opinions, show you an open state of mind. With their nose piercing and perpetually braided hair, it’s like you’ve found a best friend. Something you doubted coming to a new country for college.

Girls don’t have to be girls, boys don’t have to be boys and gender shouldn’t affect any of your judgments, is what they teach you.

“It’s all horse shit, Nico.” They tell you over studying and you laugh. Thalia is very colorful with language. “People can be so weird about me being non- binary.”

“I think it’s cool.”

They smirk, winking. “Yeah, but you’re awesome.”

* * *

It’s not important. Everyone’s different. There are girls that can stop you in your tracks. Boys that would rather hide in the background and let everyone else speak. Pink toes and heavy metal tastes. Burn marks upon a wrist. Strength and weakness and butterflies with clipped wings.

People.

* * *

 A boy named Luke asks you out and you say yes. He’s in one of your classes and never misses a chance to smile when you walk by.

He takes you to a concert and by the end of it your pumped full of energy, singing all the songs with him on the ride back. You feel like you should be nervous but you’re not.

“You know why I like you?” He pauses, blue eyes glinting.

The tips of your ears feel warm, but you can be just as bold when you want to be. “Why?”

“Because you’re one of those rare types of people who actually listens when someone else talks.”

You don’t know what you’re supposed to say. In true Nico fashion, though- “Is that your way of telling me you talk a lot?”

Luke laughs.

* * *

There’s a sudden press of lips on your forehead and you take a deep breath. Luke smells like cinnamon and jewelry.

“Do they know? I mean, about me?”

He rolls his eyes, pushing you into the coffee shop with a sharp shove. You stick out your tongue and he snorts. “Yes.”

Someone pipes up from the table next to the window. “Finally! I thought both of you were sexing it up somewhere.”

“Piper.” A voice chastises.

You slide in beside Luke. A red head skids by the table with a deep set frown.

“Who’s the kid?”

Jason- you know it’s him because of his scar- looks up at the ceiling like he’s praying for patience. “Why don’t you ask him yourself, Clarisse?”

The frown deepens, but now it’s directed at you. “Who are you?”

Wind whispering, boys running wild on the cobblestone streets. The world inquires, _who are you?_

You stick out your hand and smile a little. “I’m Nico.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The opinions that Nico has at first are based on his mother, not him. In terms of surgery, he decided he wanted to wait until he was 21.
> 
> Note ll: I cried writing this.


End file.
